Where Identity Went (Stitch)

[Malia]

Timestamp: 2nd day of Summer, 511 AV


Malia was sitting at the desk, red hair collected in a ponytail, scribbling notes in a leather-bound journal. Every now and then she’d look out of the small window as if mentally going over her notes. She planned and experimented with Animation as much as possible, but still she felt that she didn’t really get far. With the mechanics Jilitse had told her back in Sahova, she could create items with basic instincts and reactions, but nothing elaborate or even remotely intelligent. Sometimes frustration got the better of her.

She didn’t stop, telling herself that Tanroa would gift her with more knowledge and better results in time. At the moment she was tinkering with a concept of an anthropomorphic golem that was similar to her first creation. However, it would be made of snow. Of course, she didn’t know if snow was an appropriate material. Ice provided her with the same problem. However, in Avanthal she couldn’t really use anything else without arousing suspicion.

Probably she was thinking too much.

Life around the Icewatch Barracks had been going its course as ever. In the north season changes didn’t really change anything. Although crops grew and garden flowers bloomed, the original Talderian wilderness didn’t change one bit. Both Stitch and Malia worked during the day. During the night, Malia usually worked on her projects while Stitch slept. Or tried to sleep anyway.

If she had been a pulser, Malia would have sighed. However, even though they were companions, she focused on Animation rather than helping Stitch feeling better. She couldn’t help it. And sometimes she didn’t know why. Didn’t know who she was anymore.

[Stitch]

A loud whistle cut through the air, the high-pitched shriek of a sound being the standard signal that Stitch was about going to arrive home. It was how he always arrived. Always with an ill-fated attempt of mimicking some song he had heard somewhere. He pretty much butchered his attempt every single time. Not that the blind man knew. Malia was well-versed in the long whistle sessions she had sat through while attempting to study, Stitch happily garbling away in the corner while she tinkered with whatever it was she tinkered with. He tried not to bother her. He just whistled and workout out a bit to keep himself occupied, had a bit of small talk, and then went to sleep.

Really, living in such small quarters should have brought them closer together. It didn't appear to be doing so. The awkwardness that Stitch felt only served to push him away, and as for Malia... well, he had no idea what her mind was mulling over. He rarely did. Perhaps he could, if he really looked. No, no, that wouldn't do.

He entered the small apartment, a small box held in his arms. Grinning at her turned figure, he instantly stopped his whistling, setting down the box. This was new. With a soft chuckle, he knelt and began to rummage through the item. "Good afternoon, milady. How goes the journaling? This one likes your hair like that. The pony tail, this one means. You should wear it like that more often." Interesting. He was more cheeky than normal. Was he actually attempting to pay the Nuit a physical compliment?

"This one brought some surpriseeeees!" He sang out the last word, his attitude overly joyous. Perhaps fakely so. Something was up. If the girl ever turned her head, she would be met with the sight of the blind man, bandages and all, holding vials of cleaning liquid. And several brushes. And Priskil, he had a long white apron on his body. "This one borrowed some cleaning materials from the Barracks! We are going to clean up our room. Perhaps sweep, scrub, and arrange it in a more... orderly fashion. We need to take care of the borrowed room."

Ah. He had been buttering her up.

[Malia]

When Stitch entered, she turned around. Probably she had wanted to tell him to shut up with the whistling. The truth was that it prevented her from concentrating. However, she had taken it as an exercise in patience and remained silent most of the time. Additionally, she didn’t want to add more rules to the careful balance they struck when living together. Malia would have moved out if the situation got worse, but she still couldn’t shake that vague feeling of concern for him.

Her features didn’t twitch at the compliment; there was no reaction at all. Instead she said: “It’s not journalling. And it doesn’t go.” That would have been the point for her to return to the journal. However, she didn’t. Surprises he had? For someone who was so removed from pulsers and their relationships, she had a fairly good idea of the surprise he’d present to her. Or at least she thought she had. During the past seasons they had gotten quite close, although Malia still found it hard to admit. The advantage was that she could sometimes predict his behavior.

This time... Her eyes widened. The items he took out of the box she hadn’t expected. While he explained, still all joy and anticipation, she sat motionlessly. Then the words finally came back to her. “You want to clean with brushes.” Her voice didn’t go up towards the end, yet it was some kind of question.

Even without looking around, Malia knew that some remains of her experiments were lying around, bits and pieces of cloth, wood and other materials she had found. And she knew that she had never removed the chalk circles from the naked floor under the rug. She understood that Stitch wanted to keep the room clean because it didn’t belong to them. Still, she did have some issues. “Take that apron off.” And after hesitating: “Give it to me.”

The Nuit would wear an apron?